


Pitter Patter

by atlas (cissysullivan)



Series: Season Gods [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, season gods
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-04-14 20:47:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4579479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cissysullivan/pseuds/atlas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is the Prince of Snow and Ice. Jess is the spring sprite. It's almost summer and John Winchester died not too long ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pitter Patter

**Author's Note:**

> The seasons' gods verse is not originally my verse. It belongs to tumblruser icovetyourskulls. That means that this is probably all I will ever write for this particular verse, unfortunately. Even so, I'm going to create a collection for this just in case I ever do write anything else for it. This is just a ficlet I wrote for it. Also I would suggest listening to Pantomime by Ben Hammersley, Gone by Ioanna Gika, and A Thousand Years by Sting while reading this. They will really give you a feel for what Sam is feeling.

_Drip._

_Drip. Drop._

_Drip._

_Drip._

_Drop._

The rain fell from the sky in a steady cascade. It soaked the grass and the trees that were in their spring bloom, white flowers bursting from every branch. It darkened the walk up to the small white house, turning the pavement from a cloudy to a steely gray. It fell softly against the glass of the house’s windows and cast odd shadows on the face of Sam Winchester, who was sitting up against one of the windows, his chin in his hand, staring out, watching the rain fall.

Sam let out a breath of annoyance and for a brief moment the glass iced over. The ice melted almost as quickly as it’d appeared.

It was almost summer. This was the last of the spring rains. Sam knew that. And he hated summer. Even if he weren’t the Prince of Snow and Ice, he thought he’d still hate summer. It was a warm, sticky season that lasted far too long.

It didn’t really. It lasted three months just like winter, spring, and fall, but to Sam it felt like a lot longer than that.

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

_Drop._

_Drip._

_Drip._

_Drop._

He watched the rain for a little longer, watched how it fell on the snow drifts that never melted around the walls of his house, watched how it rolled off the ends of the icicles that hung from the edges of his roof, before he got up and turned away from the window.

Spring was a nice time of year. It wasn’t hot enough that he couldn’t leave the house or had to sit in a freezer if he did. But spring was almost over. Summer was upon him whether he wanted it to be or not.

Summer and another nine months until he could touch Jess’s skin again.

Sam had known Jess for as long as he could remember. Since she’d been melting his snow off the world when winter was over and it was springtime again. Once upon a time, his job had been his mother’s and his brother’s job (turning Jess’s green leaves into a thousand different colors and making them fall off her trees) had been their father’s. And, once upon a time, he and Jess had played in this yard during those in between weeks just as winter was turning to spring and any time in between when their parents would meet.

If he really thought about it, it was during these times he’d fallen in love with her.

He’d hated how she and her brother, Castiel, the Prince of Summer, could touch the ground and make flowers, trees, and a plethora of other plants spring up from the soil like it was nothing, but as he’d grown older, as he’d learned how to use his own powers, he’d started to find her powers beautiful.

He’d found his favorite smile was the one she made when she grew the morning glories along the white picket fence surrounding his house to let him know that spring was coming. He’d found he liked her laugh the most when she was spinning around in the rain. And, before he really knew what was happening, he found his favorite season, the season he most looked forward to, was spring. Not fall, certainly not summer, and not even winter.

Spring was his favorite season.

It was when he could see Jess the most.

_Drip. Drip._

_Knock._

Sam turned on his heel and cocked his head to one side, his eyes darting around the room.

He could’ve sworn he’d heard –

_Knock, knock._

Sam drew his frosted brows together and turned to the door.

_Knock, knock, knock._

He strode to the door. He couldn’t think of anyone that would be coming to see him today. He didn’t have to meet with Dean or Castiel about any discrepancies in the weather. His parents had long since passed on.

_Knock, knock._

He opened the door and immediately his face broke out into a grin.

“I thought you might want some company.”

Jess stood on his front porch. She had flower petals in her hair and she wore a white dress. She was barefoot as she always was during the spring and the summer. Her toes curled against the cold rain.

“Yeah,” Sam said. He swallowed and cleared his throat. “Yeah, of course. Come in.”

He held the door open for her and, as she stepped inside, she immediately shivered. Sam kept his house a very nice, very chilly thirty-two degrees Fahrenheit. Right at freezing. He didn’t mind it colder, but thirty-two degrees through most of the spring and fall, and all through summer was expensive enough as it was.

Jess pulled open the coat closet right next to Sam’s front door and pulled on a pair of fur-lined boots, a parka, some fur-lined gloves, and snapped a pair of earmuffs over her ears.

Just as Sam was sensitive to heat, Jess was sensitive to the cold.

“This house still looks the same as it did when we were kids,” Jess said, staring around the large entryway and moving deeper into the house.

Sam was already in the kitchen, boiling water for hot chocolate.

“Yeah,” he said, pulling two mugs out of the cupboards above the stove. “I got to keep the house because Dean wanted to live in upstate New York instead of Lawrence, Kansas.”

“Didn’t you want to go to Alaska? Or Maine?” Jess called from the foyer.

Sam glanced at her. She was staring at the pictures sitting in frames on a coffee table near the spiral staircase that led to the upper floors. He knew the pictures were of them as children, of his family before and after his mother died, before his father died, and then a few others of them after that. He looked away. It seemed he’d lost every camera he’d ever owned after the death of his father less than a year ago.

“Those were only ever pipe dreams, Jess.”

His voice came out much softer than he meant it to.

Jess straightened and turned to look at him. “Says who?”

Sam shrugged and didn’t look at Jess. He took the kettle off the stove and began pouring the hot water into the coffee mugs he’d set on the counter. “Everyone.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Even you?”

He took a breath. The steaming water filled up his coffee mug. “Even me.”

Settling the kettle down, he went to find the hot cocoa packets. He had more hot cocoa that probably anyone else he knew. It seemed very stereotypical to him that it would be the only hot drink he would like and that he would have so much of it stockpiled in his kitchen, but he didn’t particularly care. He’d spent too long caring about what other people thought to drink something else purely because other people thought it too typical.

Sam had just finished stirring in the cocoa and was picking up the mugs and about to turn to bring them to the small cherry wood table in the kitchen when he felt a pair of skinny, coat covered arms, wrap around his middle, startling him.

Jess’s face pressed into his back, to the space between his shoulder blades.

He let out a breath. He closed his eyes, pursed his lips, and drew his brows together.

“Just because your father wanted you to keep this house doesn’t mean you have to.” Jess’s voice was muffled by her lips pressing into his shirt.

Sam opened his mouth to argue, but nothing came out.

How could he explain to Jess, whose parents were still alive and had only retired to give their jobs to her and Castiel, what it was like to have a dead parent’s wishes hanging over him? Even if they hadn’t gotten along?  _Especially_  if they hadn’t gotten along?

He couldn’t.

There were no words he could conjure up that would be sufficient.

This was something that could only be understood through experience and, even then, this was not an experience he wanted Jess to have.

Her arms disappeared and Sam let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. He took another one before he turned around and forced a smile on his face. She was already sitting down at the kitchen table now, pressing her hands between her thighs, trying to keep them warm.

“Do you want any marshmallows?” he asked, setting her cup of cocoa down in front of her.

She didn’t answer. She blew the steam off the top out of force of habit rather than because she was actually afraid of the cocoa burning the back of her throat.

“You’re going to have to talk about it to someone sooner or later, you know that right?”

She took a sip of her cocoa.

Sam closed his eyes briefly. He held his own cup of cocoa with the sleeves of his shirt wrapped around his fingers, but even then the porcelain burned his skin. Normally, he would’ve gotten up to get an oven mitt to hold it with, but right now the burning sensation was welcoming. He clutched it even tighter.

“I don’t have to talk to anyone about anything if I don’t want to.” The words came out sounding far nastier than he meant them too, but he didn’t apologize. He gulped down some hot cocoa to keep himself from doing so. It burned all the way down.

Jess sighed. “Sam, you know I’m only trying to help you right?”

She placed a hand, not covered by one of the fur gloves, on his knee.

Sam sighed in return and gave a sad little half-smile. He reached out to cover her hand with his own before he remembered.

He still had another nine months before he could do that again.

And even then, he’d only be able to do it for one short day.

“I know, Jess,” he said softly instead. “I know you’re just trying to help.”

He put his hand on the tabletop and stared out the window at the rain.

_Drip._

_Drip. Drop._

_Drip._

_Drip._

_Drop._

Nine months, two weeks, and four days.

It felt like a lifetime.


End file.
